The Greatest Thing
by Skyward Deviant
Summary: ChristianXSatine. Just a continuation of the movie and what I think should have happened. Reviews are highly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1: How Wonderful Life Is

**The Greatest Thing**

A _Moulin Rouge!_ Fanfic

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**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely no part of _Moulin Rouge! _Although I wish I did :(

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**Author's Note**: Yes, I _know_ Satine died in the movie but in this story she LIVES. Yay! :) This is another of those cliché stories where everything is good and everyone lives… save for a few. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy! :)

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**Chapter One  
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_How Wonderful Life Is..._

He ran blindly up the stairs, up through the rafters of the former cabaret club and current theater.

There was no time for him to catch his breath, no time for him to worry about anyone trying to follow him; the young writer threw himself up the stairs, making his way to the dressing room belonging to the woman they called the 'Sparkling Diamond'. This had been where the doctor, Chocolat, Marie, and Harold had taken her. He nearly leapt up to the last step on the landing, almost crashing into the door before taking the time to stand up on his own two feet.

"Satine!" He whispered, but all that he heard was his own voice yelling.

He nearly stumbled toward the huddle of people in the middle of the room. Then he found himself falling face first to the cedar wooden floor that smelled of cigarette ash due to the fact that he had been running up multiple flights of stairs non-stop. He groaned, his vision growing blurry as he looked up to all the people surrounding the figure that was, more than likely, Satine who was slowly dying.

"Christian!" A familiar voice, a man's, called to him. "Oh, my goodness! Chocolat, fetch the boy and bring him here!"

"Yes, Monsieur Zidler."

Christian, panting heavily, felt the servant man pick him up and lay him on the same bed where they'd laid Satine. His vision was becoming increasingly clear and then he saw his love lying there, unconscious, not at all like he had ever seen her before; she'd always, at least to him, been full of life and had always been quite the entertainer. Her silky red hair that he'd loved so much was tied back behind her diamond-studded crown-like headpiece that she'd worn for Spectacular Spectacular as he began to stroke her head gently, wishing that she wasn't dying and that he had never had to see her this way.

Christian couldn't help but let tears fill his eyes and he rest his head next to Satine's limp arm.

There he collapsed, sobbing convulsively.

"Sattie…" He whispered.

He remembered distinctly dragging Satine down the stage and letting her fall.

_"This woman is yours now." _

Christian's words haunted him.

He'd looked to the 'Maharajah', Harold Zidler, in the middle of the performance and he dumped all of his money on Satine.

_"I've paid my whore." _

The audience had gasped.

Even Zidler was horrified.

Satine had sobbed as she had looked up to him_._

Then he'd looked down at Satine, who lay sobbing and coughing on the stage, slowly dying unbeknownst to him.

_"I owe you nothing… and you are nothing to me!" _

Then he held back rampant sobs as he looked down at her one last time before walking off stage.

_"Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!"_

This wasn't the way he felt.

Not anymore, at least.

Although he'd previously spoken those words, throwing money at poor Satine as she lay on the stage, coughing and wheezing, none of the things he'd said to her through spite, was true.

Not at all. How could he have said that to her?

Satine was _everything_ to him.

Christian heard the people talking softly among themselves but he still grieved for his lover, knowing that their time together was limited. The young writer remained there, sobbing uncontrollably, when he felt a hand caress his head gently. He knew that it was probably Zidler trying to calm him down; he then noticed this hand was not that of a man's but of a woman's.

Sobbing, his face drenched in tears, he looked up and saw that it was Satine's hand that was gently touching his head; the young courtesan met her lover's eyes and she smiled weakly.

"Christian…" She said quietly.

"Satine!" Christian replied in surprise.

Christian nearly leapt to her, only to be held back by Zidler and Chocolat. He struggled against them, reaching out his hand to touch Satine even for only one time.

"Let me go- let me see her! Let me see Satine! Please!"

"No, Christian!" Zidler said. "Satine… she's sick. She's _dying_. I can't let you get sick— you're our greatest writer— and only one, after all."

"You're not going to have a writer if you keep me away from her much longer. I can't survive without her." Christian looked back to the older man. "Please."

Still, Christian struggled to get near Satine. Satine could only watch helplessly as her lover was dragged away by the Moulin Rouge's former owner and her servant.

"Harold…" Satine whispered. "How dare you!"

Even in her darkest hour, Satine never failed to raise her voice to the man who had practically raised her through her years at the Moulin Rouge.

Harold whipped around to face Satine.

"But— but, duckling, you're sick. You don't want him to get sick, now do you?"

"So be it." Christian whispered. "I don't care."

Satine whispered still.

"Please, let me see him. Before it's too late."

Zidler looked to Chocolat and nodded, allowing Christian to venture near poor Satine for the first time since they'd been together on the stage for the performance that night.

"Satine…" He whispered to her, stroking her head.

Satine grasped Christian's arm.

"I'm cold again. Hold me, Christian." She whispered to him.

"Darling-" Christian whispered back to her.

She met his eyes, allowing him to take her in his arms and hold her closely for she was still cold, as she had told him on the stage after their performance and just a few seconds before. Christian closed his eyes and continued sobbing, this time through happiness that she was still alive.

"Come... what... may..." Satine managed to say, however weakly.

Christian opened his eyes and looked into hers as she brushed his damp black bangs out of his eyes. The young writer held her even more tightly and slowly rocked back and forth with her, kissing her cheek. He weakly began humming 'Your Song' to her, hoping it would keep her calm in her state of weariness at this present moment. He didn't want to hum 'Come What May', a song mentioning death, because it would cause him to cry even more.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Zidler."

Everyone looked to the door, except for Satine who Christian still held in his arms.

It was the doctor, the same short, stocky man who'd told the master of the Moulin Rouge that Satine was dying of consumption; Christian sat there in horror, not wanting to hear any more from this man who'd diagnosed his lover to die.

"Yes, doctor?" Zidler answered.

"May I have a word with you…" He began, watching everyone in the room tense up; "… _In private_…?"

Zidler nodded and he turned back to all of the people in the room.

"All of you, except Christian and Satine, go back downstairs and wait for me."

Everyone, composed of random stage hands, Chocolat, and other people Christian didn't recognize, got up on the show master's command, doing as he said, filing out the door one by one.

Then the door closed.

Satine rested her head on Christian's chest, her coughing and wheezing having subsided through time; she wrapped her arms around his waist and they both waited in silence, awaiting more news from the doctor. The door opened once again and Zidler entered with a somber look on his face; Christian and Satine noticed this immediately and both watched as he sat on the bed next to them, speaking no words.

He didn't have to for they could see sadness in his eyes and this told them everything; Zidler reached for Satine's hand and stroked it, fearing that Christian would take the opportunity of snapping at him in his protectiveness of 'The Sparkling Diamond'.

"What… did the doctor say… Harold?" Satine asked.

Harold Zidler looked to his star with a small smile on his face and shaking his head with tears flooding his sky blue eyes.

"He said he was wrong about you, love." He said quietly. "He said your condition isn't nearly as bad as he thought."

For the first time in her life, Satine saw tears come to the eyes of the man who had practically raised her.

"Am I... going to... live?" The young courtesan whispered to him.

"Yes, my little sparrow. You're going to live. He also said that if they ever find a cure for your condition, he will let us know."

Christian held Satine in his arms and the two shared a passionate kiss; the young writer nearly died right there hearing that his beloved was going to live after all.

"Oh, thank God!" He said.

"But, cherub, he still doesn't know all of the details of this matter, so we'll be keeping him close." Zidler told her.

"I'm not dying..." Satine whispered. "Thank you for telling us, Harold."

Harold took Satine's hand in his own and kissed it gently.

"You're very welcome, my little star."

Satine and Harold very gently brought her hand back to rest where she had had it before. They both then watched as Zidler began walking toward the door, trying to look the most composed he could and he wiped tears from his eyes.

"I'll let you two squirrels have your privacy." Zidler said, stopping before the door.

"Christian." He said.

Christian faced the former owner of the Moulin Rouge.

"Yes, sir?

"I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Yes, Monsieur." He replied.

"Take care of my little gosling." Zidler smiled.

Zidler closed the door and Christian faced Satine once again with a wide smile on his face. His greenish-blue eyes were flooded with tears of happiness, knowing that she was going to live beyond this day. Satine looked up to him, her face flushed of its usual color. The young courtesan smiled, weakly taking his hand in her own. Christian leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

Satine lay her head against his chest and she closed her eyes. For a few moments, she and Christian sat there in the silence, trying to take in the intensity of the news that she hadn't been dying after all.

The young poet-playwright replied, letting her lean back in his arms so that she could see his face.

"My poor darling." He said to her quietly. "You must be so exhausted."

Satine touched Christian's face gently, slowly shaking her weak head.

"Nothing I said was true, Christian. I mean... I would never have really chosen the Duke over _you_, my oh-so talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished writer."

She smiled and so did Christian as she took her hand an gently wiped a tear away from his face.

"No, Sattie..." The young writer said, trying to choke back sobs. "I should never have said all of those things to you. I was angry. Please... please forgive me... I shouldn't have put you through all of that just because I was angry. I am so sorry."

"It doesn't matter anymore..." Satine said, breathing softly now. "Like you said, we have each other... and that's all that matters."

Then she held him to her, causing the young writer to cry on the spot, so relieved at the news that she wasn't going to die today.

Christian sobbed, collapsing next to her, causing Satine to take his head in her arms and begin stroking his head gently, trying to calm him down.

"Christian, _I love you_." She said.

Christian raised his head, allowing Satine to gently wipe the tears away from his face.

"I love you, too, Satine." He told her.

Satine leaned up to kiss Christian gently. She smiled, gently touching his face.

**Author's note: **

_Thanks to a helpful reviewer, I've made slight changes. But as they say 'The Show Must Go On'! I've kind of taken to calling Satine "Sattie" because I think it's cute for Christian to call her. And, yes, I am well aware that that bohemian dude's name is 'Satie' which is similar. Now I just need a cute name for her to call Christian. Any suggestions? Any and all would be appreciated very much. :) Thank you to those who review! Those also are appreciated! _


	2. Chapter 2: Until My Dying Day

**The Greatest Thing**

A _Moulin Rouge!_ Fanfic

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**Disclaimer:** _Moulin Rouge! Belongs to Mr. Baz Luhrmann._

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_**Author's Note**: I got inspiration for this chapter by watching _Phantom of the Opera _(the one from 2004) last night, although I'm not really sure why. I guess it was because I was in a creative mood. At first, I was going to write a Phantom one, and then I realized I don't know that much about it. Then I read some _Moulin Rouge! _fics and I just got the urge to write since I know more about it and have seen the movie way more times. I worked really hard on this chapter so I hope you enjoy!

And don't forget to review, please! _:)_

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**Chapter Two**

_Until My Dying Day..._**  
**

Christian carried Satine in his arms, in his one hand beside holding his lover, he held an umbrella to protect her from the rain. He was already soaking wet, his white shirt stuck to his skin; the young writer breathed normally, watching the steam roll out of his mouth from his breath colliding with the cold air. His feet, soaking wet in his brown leather shoes that were now filled with water, seemed to want to splash rhythmically through the puddles and through the rain pouring down on the cobblestone street in front of him.

He was carrying the young courtesan, too weak to walk for herself, back to his flat from the Moulin Rouge and would try, with some help from some of his friends, to take care of Satine and help her cope with her disease that the doctor called 'consumption'. Satine lay her head against Christian's shoulder and she had her eyes closed, not asleep but thinking about life, letting Christian carry her up the stairs to the second floor of the building to his garret.

The young poet opened the door with his foot, almost stumbling over with Satine in his arms, but he kept his balance and continued into the room, heading toward the bed to let his lover lay down and rest in. Christian lay Satine down on the bed and then dropped his soaking wet umbrella to the floor, not caring enough to take the time and shake it out.

He only sat by Satine's side, taking her hand in his own and this caused the young courtesan to open her eyes; she smiled at her lover and allowed for him to kiss her hand.

"Christian..." Satine whispered.

"Are you hungry, darling?" The young writer asked.

"Not really." Satine replied. "But the doctor said I'm dehydrated..." She paused, watching Christian look around his garret in search of anything that would please her, namely a drink in this case. But all he had were empty bottles that had, at one point, contained wine. "Do you have anything?" She asked him.

"Looks like I'll have to go and get something." Christian replied, realizing that he didn't have any money. But trying to seize a little bit of hope for him and Satine, he searched his pockets, however frantically. Then he knew he was completely out of money. "When I have means to do it, of course."

Satine then handed him a wad of money, having pulled it out of what seemed like nowhere.

She slid it into his hand, smiling at him.

Christian realized that this had been the money he'd thrown at her - or rather dumped on her - on the stage during _Spectacular Spectacular_, something he would feel terrible about and regret for the rest of his bohemian life. The young writer glanced at Satine and sighed, placing the money on the bed.

"I can't take this, Sattie. Just keep it."

They then heard the pounding of footsteps on the rickety, semi-broken ceiling in the garret upstairs; they both ignored this and had gotten close enough to share a small kiss. Christian knew that all of the bohemians were most likely upstairs milling around, all out of jobs due to the impending closure of the Moulin Rouge. He then wondered what he would do for a living now that they were out jobs, since he knew it was imminent that he would soon be too.

"No! _No_! Catch him before he falls!" Christian heard a familiar voice yell from above.

Christian looked to Satine as she glanced at him, wondering what could possibly be going on above them.

"You may want to step back." He said to her.

He began to put his arm out in front of her to stop her from getting hurt.

Christian's quiet moment with Satine was shattered when a man came crashing through the hole in the ceiling, followed by a shower of wooden splinters, and the two of them watched the man hit the ladder several times, tumble down and hit the hardwood floor beneath with a loud thud, ending in complete silence; Satine screamed, Christian leaping in front of her as to protect her the best that he could as though the man had been a monster.

This ordeal had nearly scared poor Satine to death since she was not used to this yet as Christian had become accustomed to this for everyday life.

The young writer sighed.

"Not again..." He whispered.

"_Toulouse_!" Christian shouted toward the ceiling.

"Yeth?" He heard a voice ask in a sing-song tone.

"The Argentinean fell through my roof... _again_! Come and get him."

"So sowwy, Chwistian." He said. "I wiww get Satie to get him."

Satine stood there, her hands clasped over her mouth in horror as Christian non-chalantly stepped over the man and headed toward his desk to sit down. Then a dwarf-like man's head appeared in the space of the hole left in the ceiling after the first time the man had fallen through; he had a thin, wiry black mustache, a scruffy goatee on his chin and golden-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked quite afraid, peering over the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose; he took a drink from the crystalline glass of dark greenish liquid in his hand and spotted Christian staring up at him.

"Toulouse?" Satine asked incredulously, staring up at him in horror.

Toulouse leaned slightly forward on the wood, causing it to creak quietly and he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, trying to get a better look at the person who was speaking to him. He took another drink of the greenish looking drink and pursing his lips, adjusting his glasses yet again.

"Ah! Mademoisewwe Satine!" Toulouse beamed at her, laughing heartily. "How do you this fine evening, faiw wady?"

"I am doing quite well, thank you." The young courtesan answered, putting her hand up to shield her face from splinters of wood that fell from the roof at that instant. "Yes... yes quite. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know. Just hangin' awound." He said with a wide smile on his face.

Christian walked past once again, not caring enough to look up at Toulouse for he had been through this too many times in the past and he was, quite frankly, quite sick of this going on above him all the time.

"_Toulouse_," He said in a stern voice; "Come and get him. Now_. Please_."

"Oh, yes! Of courthe, Chwistian. Wight away!"

"What is going on here?" Satine asked. "Does that happen a lot?"

Christian came up behind Satine and put his arm around her.

"It happens everyday."

Satine gave Christian a look of horror and she looked down to the Narcoleptic Argentinean who still remained there on the dusty floor, completely unconscious but everyone in the room could hear that he was snoring lightly. Then another man appeared next to Toulouse; he wore a colorful scarf, a bowler hat covering his bald head, gold-rimmed glasses and a thin goatee on his chin, like Toulouse's own.

This man, Satie, stared down at the Narcoleptic Argentinean, shaking his head in disdain and tsking his tongue. He lowered a rope down to the Argentinean which Christian tied around the man's foot, securing it tightly. He was a composer, and a brilliant one at that, for Zidler and the orchestra at the Moulin Rouge but lately had taken up the responsibility of hauling the man back up to the garret up above when he fell through periodically.

"You know, Toulouse, I should get paid for this."

"But, I haven't any money."

He hauled the Argentinean up through the roof and disappeared from sight.

Toulouse looked to Christian and Satine with a broad smile on his face.

"You two should come up here for dinnew tonight." He said. "Chwistian, I'm making your favowite... shwimp kabobs! They wiww be done any minute now!" He said triumphantly with a laugh. "What do you thay? Do you want to?"

Christian looked to Satine who smiled.

"What do you want to do, Sattie?" He asked.

"I think it'd be rude if you said no. Toulouse is being very generous. Why not?"

Christian kissed her on the cheek gently. He looked back up to his friend.

"We'd love to, Toulouse. Satine and I just need a minute to get ready."

"Gweat!" Toulouse said. "Thee you in a few minuteth!

Toulouse then disappeared and Christian could feel his blood pressure drop. He sighed.

"Christian..." Satine nearly whispered to him. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing." Christian said, bending down to rummage through some papers on the floor.

He threw them around as if they were nothing but leaves blowing in the wind.

Satine could tell that he was hiding something from her.

"No. There's something wrong." The young courtesan replied. "Please tell me." She glanced over to the walls, noticing that all of his writing papers had been torn off and were littering the space around his trash can around the ones that filled it. Her eyes made it to the desk that had formerly been his main place of work, knowing something was missing.

"Christian, where is your typewriter?"

She heard Christian, who was now laying on the floor on the other side of the room, his face covered in papers in exasperation, sigh audibly.

"I... sold... my... typewriter..." He said.

Satine gasped, exaggerating her surprise to get Christian's attention, having learned how to - quite professionally - get the attention of a man through her many years as a courtesan working at the Moulin Rouge. And she would try to get the attention of her lover as best she could in the only way she knew how.

"_Sold your typewriter_?" Satine asked.

Christian nodded sadly. "After you left me, I was going to leave for London. Then I went back to the Moulin Rouge to find you and give you the money."

"Oh, no! This won't do. This won't do at all!" Satine said, interrupting him.

"Please, don't try to cheer me up about it, Sattie. It's not going to work." He slumped down against the dingy wall on the opposite side of the room, touching his forehead in shame.

Satine tried to think of something to say as she sat back against the rickety rungs of the wooden ladder leading up to the room above them.

"But- but- you need it to write, _Shakespeare. _How are you ever going to keep your job at the Moulin Rouge if you don't have a typewriter?" She paused to take a breath. "Harold will be so very disappointed. You're the best writer we've had there in years!"

"_Please_, Satine. I can't take this right now." Christian said, slumping down in his depressive state even more.

"You'll listen to me if you love me."

Satine, trying to think of some other way to get him to pay attention to her, knew only of one way that would get it for sure. She whimpered loudly, taking a sad look on her face and stuck out her lower lip. This, however, failed to catch his attention. Dissatisfied, Satine got up from the bed, despite however weak she was, and she walked over to him, kneeling next to him. Using the paper over his face as a distraction, Satine climbed onto his lap and watched him gasp, the sudden motion of his head lifting off the floor enough to cast the papers away.

She then touched his cheek gently, smiling down at him.

The young courtesan let her fiery red hair down out of its neat bun and she gave him a seductive look.

"Oh, come now, dear Christian." She said. "Will you please tell Sattie what's bothering you?"

Christian smiled. "How can I resist _you_?"

"You can't." Satine smiled in return. "I'm the Moulin Rouge's Sparkling Diamond, after all. Now, tell Mummy what's wrong..."

"I don't have a job, I don't have money, I don't have a _typewriter_, and I almost lost the woman I love."

Satine silenced her lover with a gentle kiss on his lips.

"But you still have her." Satine said quietly.

"Thank God for you, Sattie. You're the only thing that's kept me from jumping out my window..."

"Oh, you silly boy." The young courtesan pressed one finger to his lips, which Christian kissed lightly, causing Satine to smile. "Do you really think the courtesan would let her sitar player do such a thing?"

Christian smiled and pulled Satine toward him.

The young writer and the courtesan shared a passionate kiss, feeling each other's emotions through it and Christian got up off the floor, taking Satine in his arms. They continued to kiss each other as Christian lay Satine down on the bed and the young courtesan began running her hands through his dark brown hair. Satine then slipped her hand through the opening in his shirt, letting her hands caress her lover's back gently, feeling his muscles move as he held her in his arms; she smiled, pausing their kiss, and she reached for Christian's collar, looking to undo it and she had gotten to unbutton his shirt when they were interrupted.

"Yoo-hoo! Chwistian! Mademoisewwe Satine!" Toulouse called from up above. "Dinnew is weady!"

Christian, panting at this point, separated his lips from Satine's own.

"Oh, great."

Then he turned to face toward the opening in the ceiling.

"All right, Toulouse! We'll be up there in ten minutes."

Satine giggled under her breath and the young writer looked to his lover.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You've got lipstick all over your lips." She said, giggling some more.

"Oh, well." Christian replied with a smile. "It doesn't matter."

Satine kissed him again, allowing him to begin to run his hands down the robe she wore; Satine unbuttoned Christian's shirt and allowed for her lover to place his weight on top of her. Satine giggled even more as Christian kissed her down her neck, something she had never experienced before. The two of them had just about gotten to the next step in their few moments of passionate love for one another when they heard Toulouse's voice from up above once again.

"They'we getting cowd!" He exclaimed.

"I guess we'd better go." Christian said.

Satine smiled, kissing him one last time on the lips.

"Yes. I suppose you're right."

Now came the task of the two making themselves look presentable for the bohemians on their first technical date they'd ever had. Christian got up off of Satine and slipped the dress's top back over his lover, placing a kiss on her forehead; Satine rebuttoned his shirt and his collar, wiping the lipstick off of his lips.

Christian got up off of his lover and glanced out the window, seeing the Moulin Rouge across the street, and he sighed.

"What are we going to do, Sattie?" He asked her.

Satine lay her hand on Christian's shoulder and Christian relished her touch like he had been touched by an angel. It was a warm, tender touch like that of a mother's own. But hers was also different; it was soft and gentle and Christian wanted to melt into her in that instant. Good God, it was insane how much he loved that woman and how she could love him in return.

"I could talk to Harold." She said. "He'd know what to do."

Christian turned to her and stared at the mahogany desk he had shoved into the corner; the little sad, neglected desk had been the one that he had formerly held his typewriter, his only means of having an escape from reality. The writer wanted to kick himself for selling such a necessity for keeping him alive and sane.

"Would that work?" He asked her quietly.

"I'm not sure. The Duke... has the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. But we don't need them. We can still survive."

"How will we do that?"

"We'll find a way, Christian." She nuzzled him, her cheek pressing up against his. "I know we will."

Christian looked to her, unable to believe that this was the same woman who had practically died on the stage of the newly converted Moulin Rouge after the curtain had fallen; she seemed so weak in what he believed to be her darkest hours but she had pulled through, despite the disease taking over her body. There was so much faith and spirit in her sparkling sky blue eyes. He couldn't believe this woman was his and that she would love him until his dying day.

He decided right then and there that if she was willing to save the Moulin Rouge, then so was he.

They would save it together.

Satine's eyes met his own.

"We'll have a wonderful life together, Christian. Once we get your _typewriter_ back, that is."

They shared a passionate kiss and Satine was the first to climb up the ladder to Toulouse's garret upstairs, pulling Christian up after her.

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**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed! It took me a couple of days to write this and worked really hard on it! :) Review, please!**


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